


Lies of Love. Repeat of Sins. Maybe.

by MidnightJen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canonical Character Death, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Established Relationship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Horcrux Hunting, Infidelity, M/M, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25044235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightJen/pseuds/MidnightJen
Summary: It's possible it started in the summer of '97. Or was it the the Winter of '03?There's a chance to fix it all. Change the past to fix the future, that's how it goes right? So maybe it started in a bathroom in sixth year with a thoughtlessly chosen spell, some blood and a ghost screaming murder.Maybe.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 169





	Lies of Love. Repeat of Sins. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> This is, frankly, the weirdest thing I've ever written because I have never once written in this style. I'm not sure any part of this reflects how I normally write but I've been steadily working away on an epically long fic and I needed a break. This is the first time posting anything Drarry and the first time I've posted anything for Harry Potter in a long damn time. So I guess, here we go...

In the early days of July in the summer of ’97, Harry Potter went missing. He was gone for sixty-eight hours.

Nobody noticed.

The Dursleys had just been glad he wasn’t underfoot as they prepared to uproot their lives and the Order, who should have been closely watching for his comings and goings (because there shouldn’t have been any) missed it entirely because as far as they could tell, Harry never left. How could he? He was underage, still subject to the trace, and was perfectly aware of the dangers. Slipping out from the careful watch of the Order was a stupid risky move and, although he was prone to those, he’d made a much more concerted effort since the death of Albus Dumbledore to not put others (or himself) at risk.

Those sixty-eight hours could have been when it all started.

But they weren’t.

As far as the wizarding world will ever know, it started months before that, in a bathroom at Hogwarts. There was blood spilled, curses thrown, and a ghost screaming murder. The story they’ll tell will point to this moment. It’ll twist details and paint an interesting version of events that others will question but accept.

It didn’t start in that bathroom.

It started, six years from now, in the winter of ’03.

‘This is a fucking terrible idea,’ Draco said, for what may have been the hundredth time.

Harry, scrambling back into his jeans, paused in his search for his shirt, to glance over at Draco where he was sprawled naked on the bed, hands folded behind his head, eyes lazy as they watched Harry scramble about for his clothes.

‘Ginny wants to come back with me,’ he informed Draco.

Draco’s nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘That’s an even worse idea.’

Harry, who couldn’t help agreeing, once again pointed out, ‘You know you’re the best choice for this.’

‘I’m the best choice for everything, Potter.’

Harry rolled his eyes, but again, couldn’t help agreeing. He crawled back onto the bed, hovering over Draco so he could place soft teasing kisses across his chest, up the smooth pale column of his throat and along the rough side of his jaw before capturing his lips.

‘Come with me,’ he asked.

‘I shouldn’t.’

‘That’s not a no,’ Harry murmured against his lips.

‘It’s not a yes,’ Draco snapped.

‘Come with me,’ Harry whispered, easing down until he was laying atop Draco and grinning against his lips when he felt Draco’s hands come to rest on his hips.

‘How would this even work?’ The words were as close as Draco would ever come to admitting he wanted to be the one.

He’d always wanted to be the one.

‘I’ve got it all planned out,’ Harry promised, pushing back up until he was straddling Draco’s thighs, hands resting on the smooth sculpted skin of Draco’s stomach. He traced idle patterns and enjoyed the way the muscles twitched beneath his fingers.

Harry would have liked nothing more than to shed his clothes and go another round. But they were running out of time. Draco was supposed to be in London taking part in a raid and Harry was supposed to be at Hogwarts planning their next counterattack.

They would be missed shortly. Draco’s absence wouldn’t go unnoticed much longer. He was becoming known for the violence and power behind his curses and the other Death Eaters revelled in the chaos he created.

Harry would be missed too. Mrs Weasley was sure to start wondering where he had gotten to when the meeting broke up and everyone else came home but not Harry.

‘I’ve never had much faith in your plans.’

Harry huffed but went on as though he hadn’t just been insulted. ‘We’re set to do the ritual on Friday at Hogwarts,’ Harry informed him. ‘You need to take the cloak. I can switch out most of the spell components without anyone noticing but you’ll need to take Ginny’s place at the last moment for this to work.’

Harry made it sound so easy. As though sneaking into Hogwarts was simple. As though breaking into a heavily warded room with just the aid of Harry’s invisibility cloak, so that he could take the place of one of Harry’s Weasleys in a horrendously complex ritual that was the Order’s last-ditch effort to defeat Voldemort, was as simple as a casual stroll in the park.

It wasn’t. It was never going to be.

Draco did it anyway. Because Harry was right, he was the best person for this job. He’d always been the best person for the job and as little faith as he had in Harry’s plans, Draco had plenty of faith in Harry.

And really, it was Harry who had to do the hardest part. He had to replace the hair and blood and magic in the ritual with Draco’s own and he had to do it without anyone noticing. All Draco had to do was waltz in at the last moment, toss aside the cloak and hope like hell the timing was perfect and the ritual worked because, if it didn’t, he was going to end up dead.

Although, dead might be preferable to all the questions Harry would be left answering.

But Draco didn’t end up dead and his timing was perfect. Harry left a gap in the wards for him and it really was a simple matter of strolling into the castle concealed beneath Harry’s extremely powerful cloak. It was astonishingly easy to slip into the circle of runes and magic pressed tightly to Harry’s back.

And it was deeply satisfying to see the look on Ginny Potter’s face as her husband raised his hands and shoved her forcefully from the circle just a moment before the final ward snapped into place closing himself and Draco in a tight circle of magic that couldn’t be stopped.

The spell carried on despite the shouts and cries and Harry calmly turned around in the circle before he reached up and tugged the cloak free from Draco. It was becoming harder and harder to breath with the weight of the magic building around them and Draco felt it like a hot lick of flames on his skin.

‘You made it,’ Harry murmured, staggering slightly.

Draco tipped forward, only just managing to catch himself with a shaky step and he raised one hand to grip the back of Harry’s neck, the other to rest against his cheek. Harry’s own hands came up to grip his forearms. One warm hand closing over the Dark Mark without flinching as they pressed their foreheads together.

The pain was excruciating. The shouting of Order members looking for a desperate way to end a ritual that could not be stopped, drowned out by the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

‘I love you,’ Harry croaked out.

Draco only managed a smirk before his very flesh was burned from his bones and the world went bright white.

Now we can talk about the bathroom.

And Harry’s unfortunate – though perfect – timing.

Draco would be hard pressed to decide which was worse. The excruciating burning agony of being thrust back in time into his sixteen-year-old body or the fact that the body he was smacked into was torn open and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

Harry couldn’t have said if the burning agony was better or worse than having to relive the moment he’d cast his first successful Dark spell and nearly killed the man he loved.

He did have a lot of apologising to do once Draco woke up in the Hospital Wing. They’d both known the timing was going to be close, but they’d hoped for the darkness and relative safety of the Hospital Wing. They hadn’t factored in the need for proximity. If they had, maybe they’d have chosen any number of the times the two of them were stood before each other arguing and exchanging snide remarks.

They wouldn’t have chosen the moment Harry nearly killed him.

The disorientation slowed down Snape’s arrival and Draco now bore the scars of Harry’s thoughtless spell choice. He didn’t mind, really, they were a testament to what he’d been through and he much preferred being marked by Harry than Voldemort. Harry, after an ill-timed but exquisitely satisfying fuck against the wall in Myrtle’s bathroom (just moments after a trip into the Chamber of Secrets) admitted that he liked knowing he’d marked Draco.

Draco had known of Harry’s possessive streak long before the incident and took a great deal of pleasure in knowing that this time around there would be no Ginny between them. This time, Harry had made the right choice from the beginning.

At least that’s how it would look later. Much later.

Because, before they reached that point, they had to deal with the rest. They made plans. Plans and contingencies and more plans. They plotted and lied and stole away for quiet moments. They planned some more. Honestly, Harry was about ready to pull his hair out by the end and more often than not, when they were together, planning slipped their minds and they took solace in each other.

They found the diadem. The locket, as well, and it was so startlingly easy to take some fangs from the Chamber and dispose of them. It was so easy to make plans for the rest.

It was so easy to make plans for the end.

Draco played his role perfectly. So did Harry. Harry went with Dumbledore, Draco let the Death Eaters in. Harry arrived on the tower. Dumbledore immobilised him.

There was a moment, frozen in time where Harry and Draco could see the future stretching out before them perfectly. All the horror and the fear, the chaos and the death. Everything that had been and could be again if they didn’t play this right.

Draco disarmed Dumbledore.

Then he killed him.

Released from the spell keeping him frozen and concealed, Harry tossed aside the cloak, grabbed Draco by the front of his robes and pressed an urgent, fierce, kiss to his lips.

‘I love you,’ he murmured against Draco’s mouth.

Draco smirked. And then he was gone.

Snape remained a spy. Draco became a Death Eater. A killer.

Harry spun lies and painted a picture of the events on the rooftop. He told the truth about Draco’s actions, lied about how long it took. Took some of the events of the original moment and laced them together with what he wanted them to know.

Such a small change and yet things remained remarkably the same. There was a funeral, words exchanged with the Minister and plans made with Ron and Hermione. He didn’t have to break up with Ginny.

He returned to Privet Drive.

But he didn’t stay there. He went missing for sixty-eight hours.

Sort of.

‘Bloody fucking hell,’ Harry croaked, rolling onto his side and wheezing as he tried to get his breathing back under control. The pain in his chest wasn’t the worst he’d ever experienced but fuck if it wasn’t a close second.

Draco, sat beside him, shaking. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. We are never doing that again.’

‘No,’ Harry agreed. ‘Let’s not.’

‘Can you stand?’

‘Not a chance.’

Draco pushed him roughly onto his back and then settled over him. Dropping kisses over every inch of Harry’s face, his neck. Harry didn’t comment on the wet splash of tears – he was sure his own eyes were wet. Draco’s arms didn’t hold him for very long and he dropped his full weight onto Harry with a choked sob.

Harry put his arms around him and murmured reassurances over and over again. A soft litany of, ‘I’m okay, I’m okay, we’re okay.’

He wasn’t really sure how else to comfort the man you love after he’s just killed you.

The original plan had called for Harry to be gone just twenty-six hours. They spent the extra forty-two reassuring each other they were alive and well.

They wouldn’t see each other again for months.

It was hard. People died. But Harry played the role. He faked confusion and anger and a whole host of other things. He’d gotten very good at lying over the years. Very good at pretending and hiding. He’d managed to conceal an affair for five years. Managed to hide where he was really getting most of his insight into Voldemort’s activities from for just as many.

He could pretend to hunt down horcruxes that no longer existed while Voldemort sought out a wand he would never possess, and they waited for a sword to be passed along.

Harry would have been terrified by how everything went exactly as it had before if not for the fact that he’d been warned it would. He’d been cautioned to let it. Back when they’d first been making the plans, back when the Order thought it would be him and Ginny and knew nothing about Draco.

The Order had made plans. Harry had made plenty of his own.

Ron ran away. Then he came back.

And that was when Harry sat down in front of Ron and Hermione and said, ‘I’m about to do something very stupid and I need to you to listen to me very carefully.’ He waited for them to realise how serious he was being before he went on. They needed to understand that there would be plenty of things happening in the next moments and that they would likely understand none of them.

The coin in his pocket burned hot and he knew he was out of time.

‘I’m going to get us captured. You need to put up a fight, make it look good but do not – absolutely do not – get away.’

They protested, of course they did, but he didn’t have time to worry about it.

They made it look good and just like last time, Hermione hit him with a hex that warped and twisted his features. Just like last time, they were taken to Malfoy Manor. There was confusion and debate and Draco was brought out.

This is when things changed.

Hermione was crying, Ron was shouting. Draco looked as terrified as he had last time around. At least, if you didn’t know what to look for. They locked eyes and Harry saw the soft edge in those grey eyes.

And then Draco smirked, a private look meant solely for Harry. ‘It’s him.’

Bellatrix crowed in triumph. She rolled up her sleeve to summon her master and Draco hit her from behind with the sharp green of a Killing Curse. Harry surged up, slamming the palm of his hand into Lucius’s nose, driving cartilage up in a perfect strike. He fell boneless to the floor but Harry felt no guilt. Draco didn’t even look back.

Instead, Draco spun, and two more curses felled the Snatchers holding Ron and Hermione. Harry didn’t even flinch at the green light snapping toward his friends. He was too busy shaking the spell from his features as he wrestled with the Snatcher holding his shoulders.

The whole thing took just moments. Hermione shrieked, Ron yelled and Narcissa Malfoy screamed. Not one of them seemed able to move, stunned by the unexpected turn of events.

Draco walked impassively over to his aunt’s lifeless body and snatched away the wands she had on her. He tossed Harry’s back to him – who caught it easily – as he made his way toward his mother.

‘You’ll not interfere,’ he instructed her.

‘Draco,’ she tried to speak, eyes darting from the body of her dead sister to her husband.

‘Say nothing,’ he snapped. He turned to Harry, locked eyes with him and after an intense moment, rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and pressed his wand to the Dark Mark on his forearm.

Into the silence, there came the soft slithering of a snake. Nagini glided into the room just moments before her Master.

Voldemort’s gaze swept the room. He saw Harry and his friends, the fallen bodies of Bellatrix and Lucius. He didn’t see Draco. Didn’t see the strike that slayed Nagini. Not until it was too late.

In the end, he didn’t see the spell that killed him, either.

He spun, snarl of rage on his face, wand ready to curse Draco for daring to slay something that belonged to him and faltered. Because Draco had a teasing smile on his lips and the Sword of Gryffindor in hand.

‘Goodbye, Tom.’

Harry’s Killing Curse hit Voldemort from behind. He hadn’t been expecting it. He spun trying to evade it, but it was the Killing Curse and it hit his side with the same finality as if it had hit him square in the back as Harry had intended.

After all this time, after so much pain and destruction, the death of Tom Riddle was a bit anticlimactic.

Draco stepped over the fallen body and stalked toward Harry. Harry met him halfway. They met, toe to toe, Draco just that touch taller, and for a moment they could only stare. And then they were reaching for each other and it was exactly the wrong time and place for a proper snog, but it was also the perfect moment.

Draco broke the kiss first and with it came the words he’d never once spoken aloud but that Harry had always known. ‘Fuck, I love you.’

Harry grinned.

‘What. The. Fuck. Harry?!’

It’s possible we’re doing this all wrong. It didn’t start in the summer of ’97, nor in the Winter of ’03. Maybe it started in the bathroom in ’97 but it’s more likely to have been the Autumn of ’98.

Then again, its Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and just maybe it all started in the summer of ’91 on the 31st of July in a robe shop in Diagon Alley.

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are most definitely welcome. And yes, I am aware how this comes of reading like a prologue. Maybe one day I'll write the long way around. Maybe.


End file.
